


The Great Fall

by Author_of_Kheios



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley's Backstory, How Crowley Fell, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, Pre-Canon, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: It begins with an innocent question. The simplest of questions, in fact, while a demon lies stretched out on a couch with his head on an angel's lap, dozing like nothing could possibly be wrong with this picture."Crowley?""Yes, Angel?""Howdidyou Fall?"~Alternately: Crowley reluctantly shares his backstory





	The Great Fall

**Author's Note:**

> ~~So, you can't make your own tags on mobile, and I don't have access to a computer at the moment... I'll update this with the proper tags when I get home.~~ Fixed the tags, finally. XD
> 
> Many thanks to [Ecchima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecchima/pseuds/Ecchima/bookmarks) for ideas and beta reading!
> 
> Almost forgot, guys, huge appreciation to halfanapple and their friend mercuryhatter for the idea that demons can't say holy names. Check out the fic I got inspiration from: [Any Other Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021255).

It begins with an innocent question. The simplest of questions, in fact, while a demon lies stretched out on a couch with his head on an angel's lap, dozing like nothing could possibly be wrong with this picture.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"How _did_ you Fall?" Crowley opens vibrant yellow eyes, pupils narrowed to the barest slits of black against the bright light of the lamp Aziraphale is using to read. Or rather, _was_ using to read.

At the moment, the book is partly closed around Zira's thumb, cocked against his shoulder like he had a sudden thought and must devote his entire attention to it before he can continue reading. His soft green-blue gaze is fixed on Crowley's, unbothered as always by the serpentine qualities which have sent so many others stumbling back in horror and confusion, and his fingers are still carded into the soft waves of Crowley's hair.

Crowley stares back at him for a long moment, giving him a chance to take the question back. The subject of his Fall is one they've avoided over the centuries, most often because Zira loses his nerve before Crowley really says anything. And if Crowley is being honest, which he rarely does, being a demon and all, then he's rather glad for Zira's nerves, because he doesn't even like thinking about his Fall, much less talking about it. Particularly now that he has shunned all ties to Hell.

"How did I Fall?" he echoes after a moment, mildly concerned that Zira hasn't begun fidgeting yet.

"Well yes," the angel hums, a faint, tender smile curling his lips and creasing the corners of his eyes. Crowley thinks he melts a little bit under the warmth of that smile. "I've been thinking lately... You were such a wonderful angel before you Fell... I rather looked up to you, in fact. I mean, not every angel had the great pleasure of Lucifer's company before _he_ Fell. And really, if you ask me, your voice was at least as beautiful as his. So what was it that made you give that up?"

"Give it up?" Crowley echoes again, a twinge of irritation tweaking his mood. He hates getting annoyed at his angel, especially now that they're allowed to do and be things they never could before Armageddon, but there are some things that he can't help, and becoming defensive of his past is one of them.

"Oh," Zira says quietly, smile vanishing as he seems to realise his mistake.

"I didn't _give it up_ , Angel," Crowley cuts in, sitting up and immediately regretting leaving Zira's soft lap. But he stays sitting up, so as to deny himself the comfort of the angel's touch and also to avoid meeting his gaze. "I lost it. All of it." In a sudden burst of uncharacteristic honesty, he adds, "My Fall wasn't just one thing; it was a culmination of many little annoying things that I can't ever take back."

For a moment, they both sit still and silent, only the sound of passing cars outside and the subtle _tick tick tick_ of Zira's clock on the desk to interrupt the quiet. Then Zira closes his book, sliding a strip of cloth that he uses as a bookmark between the pages, and sets it gently on the side table under the lamp. He folds his hands in his lap and nervously adjusts his posture.

"I, for one, am rather glad you can't," he says softly, as though speaking to himself, just at a level audible to Crowley, who glances at him. Aziraphale levels a surprisingly calm look at him. "That culmination of many little annoying things led you to the Garden, and gave me the opportunity to meet you in person. We might never have met, never have become friends, never have gotten as close as we are. I don't know if this... between us, whatever it is, is part of the Ineffable Plan, but I like to think, when I'm alone and no one is around to hear... that God planned it. That we were specifically chosen for our roles so that we could become friends. And I'm grateful." His gaze, soft and, dare Crowley say, loving, drops to his lap, and the smile returns. "I wanted to know what made you Fall so I would be able to thank Her specifically for it; for giving me the chance to be with you."

Crowley sits in dumb amazement for what seems an eternity, but in actuality is little more than ten seconds. He has never felt so... _right_ before, like everything is as it should be, and that feeling might be slightly disconcerting had he still been loyal, to use the term loosely, to Hell.

And really, there's a part of him that still rages at God for banishing him from Heaven, so the idea of _thanking_ Her doesn't sit well with him. But he also knows that Aziraphale, like all angels, thanks God for every little blessing angels themselves don't produce, and another, different part of him warms considerably at the idea that Zira thinks of meeting him as a blessing.

Finally, he lets out a short, heavy sigh and flops back down on Zira's lap, startling the angel.

"Guess it's story time, eh?" Crowley mumbles, feigning a reluctance that he thought he should feel but doesn't.

Surprised and somewhat pleased, Zira's smile widens and he threads his fingers back through Crowley's hair, laying the other hand on the demon's chest.

"I do love a good story," he hums, lightly scratching Crowley's scalp to relax him.

"I suppose I have to start even before the beginning of Time..."

~~~

He wasn’t always ‘Crowley.’ Or ‘Crawly,’ for that matter. Before he was a demon, before he Fell, he was a beautiful angel named Cathetel with enormous white wings softer than anything currently known on Earth.

In fact, he was a Dominion, the highest of the middle hierarchy of angels. Just like Lucifer. In double fact, Cathetel and Lucifer were decently good friends; they often sang together in the heavenly choir, leading the rest of the angels in beautiful serenades of God's great glory.

The problem with being friends with Lucifer was that when Lucifer began to conspire against the other angels, you had to choose a side, and Cathetel didn't really want to do that. But he also didn't want to stop hanging out with one of his closest friends. So when the Revolution began, Cathetel was conspicuously absent.

The Revolution was, simply put, a mess. To put it more complicatedly, no one quite knew who to trust, except that Lucifer was on one side and Michael on the other, and that anyone who tried to attack one was immediately assumed on the side of the other.

The clash of heavenly beings was quite the sight to see, and Cathetel was perhaps the only being in existence, save God Herself, who saw it in all its grisly brilliance.

Many angels died that day; the forces of Lucifer had few qualms about slaying their brethren, and those who had them only hesitated until someone else killed first. It was horrendous to watch, separate from the mob mentality that drove once peaceful creatures to the brink of madness in pursuit of blood.

Cathetel had the memory of that battle burned into his mind with all the intensity of the fires Lucifer summoned in hopes of destroying Michael. He failed, of course, and that last, vicious collision saw Lucifer flung from Heaven. One by one, all of his followers who weren't killed were defeated and flung down after him. In his pain and rage, Lucifer cast off his Name, becoming Satan, and created a realm far below as a sanctuary for his scarred and broken followers, whose Names were taken from them, stripped by the same fire which scorched their wings and left them bereft of God's light.

Cathetel's heart ached for his friends, most of whom had lost the battle and been relegated to Satan's realm, Hell. His was not the only sympathetic heart, apparently, and in the days following the Revolution, other traitorous angels were hunted down and banished to Hell. Cathetel escaped that fate only by keeping his mouth shut, or by lying blatantly when asked his opinion on those Below.

When the hunt for traitors began tapering off, and things had settled on both sides, Cathetel snuck out of Heaven and hid his wings to walk among the Fallen.

Hell was disorganised, much as Heaven had become after the battle, but more so because Heaven had had a system in place prior to the battle, whereas Hell hadn't even existed. Because of this, Cathetel was neither stopped nor questioned until he reached an enormous double door marked with a corrupted version of Lucifer's symbol.

"I'm here to see an old friend," he said when stopped by the guard, a former Principality and now a clear leader of a lower level of the slowly developing hierarchy of Hell.

“That’s what they all say,” the guard scoffed. Cathetel considered performing a small miracle to distract the Fallen angel, but before he could decide what to do, the doors clicked and creaked open ominously.

A very haggard looking former-angel stood there, long dark hair once aglow with its own light, now hanging as a limp, tangled veil across the burned red face that used to shine with beauty. It still held a form of handsomeness, but dark and twisted.

It made Cathetel’s heart leap to his throat, and he couldn’t be sure if it was from attraction or disgust.

A little of both, perhaps.

“Cath-” The coarse raggedness of the voice that broke into a fit of choking and coughing made Cathetel’s heart sink back into place and then beyond, dropping through the proverbial floor with horrified pity.

“Lucifer... Your voice!”

“Gone,” the Fallen Dominion rasped, turning away from the door and gesturing for him to follow. “Along with my desire to sing, to shine into the darkness. Gone alongside my holiness.” He sounded regretful, and Cathetel wished he could hug his friend. Wished it so desperately that he stepped closer and reached out.

“NO!” Satan snapped bitterly, punctuated by the clunk of the doors closing behind Cathetel. He withdrew sharply from the angel, who faltered, stung and uncertain. In the gloom, it was hard to tell, but Cathetel was sure Satan’s expression was one of longing when he explained lowly; “I would burn you, and you would scorch me. There is a chasm between us now, Cath-”

Again he broke off in a strangled, choking gasp, and Cathetel felt a rising panic expand in his chest. He stepped forward again, but refrained from reaching out, trying to think of a way to help without harming his old friend.

“I can’t even say your name anymore,” Satan whispered hoarsely when he’d recovered. “I’ve lost... so much... And for what?” Hatred rippled off him, palpable as an invisible wave, and he spun around, throwing out his hands and expelling a burst of Hellfire from each. “FOR WHAT?? For your _PLAN_?? Do you know what Mich-”

Another fit of hacking, and this time collapsing to his knees. Cathetel shook with the need to do _something_ , but he had no idea what, so he just stood there while Satan took deep, rasping breaths and looked balefully at him.

“Do you know... what that... horrendous excuse for an angel said to me when he cast me out of Heaven?”

“N-no...”

“He said it was God’s Plan,” Satan spat viciously, settling back on his heels and turning a frightening glare upward. “He said that it was all God’s... Ineffable Plan, that it would result in the salvation of billions and trillions of souls...”

Cathetel grimaced under the weight of the venom in Satan’s voice, but listened quietly; it was the least he could do for his old friend.

“Billions and trillions...” the Fallen Dominion scoffed. “What souls?? Those worlds She created are perfect! As perfect as the angels!” He shakes his head. “As perfect as they _were_...”

“...Rumour has it...” Cathetel spoke up softly, unsure if he should even be mentioning this because, after all, Satan was the opposition. But he was also a friend, and Cathetel couldn’t help but extend a gesture of goodwill in spite of... well, everything. “Rumour has it that... God is planning another world. A Time-locked world.”

“Time?” Satan scowled. “A Time-locked world...”

“They say She’ll populate it with new beings. Humans. Creatures capable of... of choice.”

“We are all capable of choice,” Satan snorts. “What next: beings capable of creation?”

That was as close to impossible as angelic beings could imagine, you see, for only God had the ability to create things. Angels could manipulate creation, cause things to happen that would, to other beings, seem impossible, but no angel could _create_.

“Between us,” Cathetel clarified quietly. “They’ll be able to choose between God and... and you.”

Satan stared at him for a long moment, stunned to silence. Then he looked up, and Cathetel saw... No, he must have imagined, a tear sliding down the Fallen Dominion’s cheek.

“So that’s how it is...” Satan murmured, voice strained in a way that seemed more than just fire-damage. “Do you know what else the angel who cast me out said?” He doesn’t pause for an answer, probably because he already knew what the answer would be. “He said that salvation, ultimate salvation, would be attainable for all... All but me. He said that I would never again stand before God as an angel; only ever again as... as a demon.”

“A... demon?” Cathetel echoed, perplexed and horrified by the implication of being denied audience with God.

“One day,” Satan said, growling now with growing rage. “One day, I will be cast from existence. I will be utterly and completely destroyed, as no angel ever has been. I will be annihilated, for daring to believe that angels deserved more! Is that how it is to be, _God_?? Oh Most Holy One?? THEN SO BE IT!!! I will ruin your precious creation!! I will tempt your precious humans to my side, and I will drag them into oblivion with me!”

“Luci-”

“There is no Luci- Lucifer here!” Agony dragged at his words, but he managed to say the holy name. Smoke poured from his mouth, and his next words were even more mangled, more hoarse and choked. “I AM SATAN! I am the antithesis of all things holy, and I will take great pleasure in destroying all of God’s creations! Leave, now, before I decide to begin with you!!”

Cathetel fled, horrified by what had become of his friend, by what he’d been driven to.

He fled back to Heaven, and found an empty garden in which to hide and pour out his grief in the form of a seemingly endless river of tears. He cried until he could cry no more, and then continued to cry until he had cried every tear he would ever cry in his entire existence. When all those tears were gone as well, he sat silently in the garden, feeling like a piece of him was missing, and stared at the beauty around him without seeing it.

A pleasant-faced angel, a Principality, found him. His reflection of God’s holiness shone a stunning gold-white around him, and Cathetel knew he had been firmly on Heaven’s side of the Revolution; he was untainted by the grief and uncertainty that hid beneath his own halo.

“Are you going to sing, Cathetel?” the Principality asked, so polite and perfect in comparison to Satan and his... demons.

“Sing?” Cathetel echoed, lost. Concern furrowed the Principality’s brow.

“Yes, sing. The choir is gathering. Gabriel sent me to find you. Well, actually I volunteered.”

“Sing. With the choir...” Abruptly Cathetel realised that his reaction would raise alarms if he didn’t correct himself, and now. He would be cast out of Heaven with the other sympathisers. “Yes! Yes, of course. Shall we?"

He went, and he sang. Compliments where showered on him that his voice sounded better than ever, better even than Lucifer's. Every compliment gave rise to more guilt, which in turn gave something to his voice that couldn't be explained yet, but would eventually be called 'soul,' and the cycle continued.

Cathetel didn't like his new reality, and oftentimes he snuck away from the other angels, either to poke around Hell and chat a minute or two with old friends, or to seclude himself away in a garden or something somewhere, just to be alone. And while he was alone, he idly amused himself by changing his form to all manner of creatures, many of which did not exist before he attempted them, mashing up features from existing beings and tweaking those features until they combined into a pleasantly-looking whole.

It wasn't creation, of course, but it was enough to make Cathetel wonder if perhaps, just maybe, Satan at least had a small point in his ranting that was worth considering.

God created a new world, just as the rumours had promised, and She bound it by Time. To everyone's surprise, She bound the angels and demons by Time too, without explanation. Then She filled the world with all manner of creatures, and every time the angels asked if She had just created humans, Her answer was always the same: "Not yet."

Eventually, the angels stopped asking, and simply watched in amazement. When She descended to the newly created Earth Herself and moulded a being from the dirt that looked very much like Herself and angels, everyone knew immediately that this was a human, and Cathetel more than most watched in avid fascination, knowing that this human, this _man_ , would be Satan's first great victory against God in the conflict that brewed.

"Look at them, angel," Satan murmured hoarsely to Cathetel during one of his visits to Hell. They were watching the humans, the man and his partner, woman, through a reflection of water powered by Satan's very essence. "Look how blind they are. Like so many of the angels who refuse to acknowledge that we were once like them. Blind obedience is nothing short of slavery. Don't you agree?"

"...Yes," Cathetel answered. It was, in fact, the most honest he had been since before the Revolution. "Why is the Tree in such easy reach anyway? It's as though God _wants_ them to take the fruit. But then why tell them not to touch it?"

"You see, my friend?" Satan chuckled, a low gravelly sound like burning rocks grinding together in a half-molten mass. It was a sound very befitting of the Ruler of Evil, and one he had clearly perfected. After all, he once had the most beautiful voice in all of existence, so it was no surprise that he could make even his fire-damaged lungs produce so tempting a sound.

"I do," Cathetel hummed, unconcerned that he spoke blatantly against God. Perhaps, just this once, God was wrong. Or maybe, not so much wrong as merely... confused.

"It is clearly a test," Satan noted, sounding amused. "But a terrible one... Either Adam and Eve will eat of the Tree and come into my grasp, or they will continue in slavery and prove God's true nature."

That didn't sound quite right to Cathetel, but it seemed right enough, so he didn't argue.

"My old friend, I have a favour to ask," Satan said, dismissing the view and facing Cathetel.

"Name it," Cathetel replied without hesitation.

"Go up there, to Earth, to the oh-so-perfect Garden... and stir things up a bit. Maybe show the man and woman that they don't have to be slaves... If God wants them to have free will to choose, then let them see _all_ of the options."

And Cathetel went. After all, Satan was certainly right about one thing: humans could hardly choose if they were only presented with one option. And what harm was there in eating the one fruit in the Garden that would allow them to know exactly what all the options were?

So, to avoid scaring the woman, who seemed more likely to listen, Cathetel became a long, thin creature that he had developed an instant affinity to upon its creation: a snake.

It really was quite the beautiful creature; it had the most gorgeous black scales that shimmered all the colours of the rainbow and then some, depending on how the light of the sun reflected from them, and it had absolutely stunning golden eyes matched with awe-inspiring yellow wings that glimmered and glinted just so.

The woman, Eve, marvelled at his beauty, and for a while, they simply talked while the man, Adam, named the last creatures in the Garden and prepared to rest for Sabbath. Eventually Eve grew hungry, as humans had been created to do, and Cathetel pointed out the Tree. At first she declined, proclaiming that God had forbidden them to eat of that Tree. But Cathetel persisted, coaxing her with all the truth he knew, reasoning that if God had placed it in such easy reach, then it must not be so important a rule... and finally, she took of the fruit.

And, well... If you've paid attention in Sabbath School, then you know what happened after that: Eve shared the apple with Adam, and both became very conscious of their nakedness, so they hid, and when God came to walk with them and it was revealed that they'd eaten of the Tree, She cursed them.

And then, She cursed Cathetel. She stripped him of his angelic holiness and banished him to Hell, calmly stating that he spent so much of his time there anyway that it was where he belonged.

For a moment, Cathetel was surprised; he felt no different for being Fallen, and he wondered if perhaps the demons Below had exaggerated the pain of Falling.

Then God turned away. She turned her back on him, and it was as though the entire universe had collapsed on him. Every molecule of his being felt as though it was simultaneously being crushed and torn apart, all at once. A burning agony seared his entire existence, shredding him apart over and over again until pain was all he knew.

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was over, only a lingering, hot ache like you might associate with a really bad sunburn that's taking its sweet time to heal.

"I... am no longer an angel," he realised, his voice gruff and harsher than he remembered it being.

The realisation was compounded by another, of loss; he could no longer feel the warm peace that had pervaded his every sense. He hadn't even noticed it until it was gone, and now he missed it with a ferocity that couldn't possibly be put into words.

But other than missing that peace and warmth, he felt remarkably at ease. There was no raging at God for cursing him ― sure he was understandably upset, but rather than hating what he'd lost, he felt like welcoming what he'd gained: a sense of belonging.

Perhaps God had been right, and this was where he belonged. However, though he had no way of knowing at the time, as Hell grew and changed, that sense of belonging would eventually fade, and he never thought to savour the very few centuries he would have that feeling.

A few days later, after slithering about the Garden ― because really, where else would he go when he'd been cast out of Heaven and was still not quite ready to call Hell home ― in his slightly less beautiful snake form, as well as in his new human-esque body, he climbed to the top of the gate to Eden, where a familiar angel stood watching the land beyond the gate.

He'd seen the angel around the Garden on occasion, guarding it first from demons who would try to invade the Paradise, and then set to keep Adam and Eve and their descendants from re-entering the Garden after being sent away. At least until Heaven could dispatch the right angels to disassemble the Garden and take it away.

He wondered absently if perhaps he might have been one of those angels, if some other demon had been the one to tempt Eve.

Already he was thinking of himself as a demon; that was perhaps the surest sign that he was where he belonged. And as soon as he got up the nerve to return to Hell, it'd be a little more permanent feeling.

He realised rather abruptly that the angel was familiar for another reason; it was none other than the Principality who had come to find him when he was hiding away with his grief after visiting Satan that first time.

The reminder of what his old friend had suffered brought back the ever present ache of burning that refused to leave due to his Fall. But standing there talking idly with that adorably, awkwardly polite Principality eased the ache somehow, reducing it from an irritating throb to a gentle, subtle pulse.

"Crawly," was the name he decided to go with. It fit, after all; as a snake he had doomed all serpents to crawl the earth on their bellies, so why not own the name?

A few decades later they met again, quite by accident, and Crawly again felt the ever present throb subside to a subtle pulse. He decided after the third improbable meeting, with the same results, that spending time with or near Aziraphale was a blessing... Or rather, simply a good thing, as demons could not experience blessings.

Not officially, anyway.

And as time passed, he grew farther from Satan and closer to Zira, until he could be in the same room as his once heavenly friend and they would barely share so much as an acknowledgement of one another's presence. Hardly a loss, if you asked Crowley; Satan had grown far too distant from everyone, and anyway, spending time with Zira was more entertaining with every new run-in.

Eventually, all those meetings, planned and otherwise, led to the development of the Arrangement, which made Crawly, by then Crowley, quite proud of himself.

However that pride slowly morphed into something else entirely, something unexpected yet decidedly delightful; it wasn't until he feared he'd lost his best friend, and so very near The End of All, that he was finally able to put words to the new emotion.

Love.

He had fallen in love with Aziraphale, insomuch as a not-quite demon _can_ , in any case.

~~~

As Crowley finishes telling his story, he decides ― silently, of course ― that perhaps it _is_ worth thanking God for orchestrating his Fall, or at least not preventing it. Despite all of the pain and suffering, he has come to a place he would never have reached otherwise, and there is no other path he would rather have taken unless it deposited him here, on the lap of his angel.

"Oh, my dear, dear Crowley," Zira murmurs softly, pain edging his voice and creasing his features as he gently caresses the demon's jaw with one hand and strokes his hair with the other. "I am so, so very sorry..."

"For what?" Crowley frowns, but doesn't stop the angel from touching him. He leans into the touches, in fact, and if he knew how wide his pupils had become, he would scramble for his glasses from the side table.

Zira leans down, touching the lightest of kisses to the tip of Crowley's nose, and a faint tinge of red colours the demon's cheeks.

"For your pain..." Zira whispers, tears gathering on his lashes. "I am so sorry... I should never have asked you to relive your Fall."

"Oh, angel..." Crowley reaches up and curls his long fingers around the back of Zira's neck, tugging him back down and tilting his head back to press a proper kiss to the angel's lips.

Now, understand... when ethereal beings like angels and demons kiss, it isn't like when two humans kiss; a human kiss is merely the contact of flesh, and perhaps bone if teeth are involved, but when ethereal beings kiss, it's a merging of essence, a collision of one being's energy against the other's, and it can be far more intimate than any earthly carnal pleasure. So, when Crowley kisses Aziraphale, both of them shiver and release soft gasps.

"For you, I would Fall all over again," Crowley breathes softly against Zira's mouth, fingers toying with the small curls at the back of the angel's neck.

"I should hope it never comes to that," Aziraphale mumbles distractedly, trailing his fingers in idle circles down Crowley's neck, which causes actual sparks to flicker between their skin.

"Yeah, well, now I've said it," Crowley humphs, touching another quick, light kiss to Zira's lips. "But if you ever tell anyone any of what I've said, I'll deny it for the rest of eternity; I've a reputation to uphold, you know."

"Of course," Aziraphale chuckles softly, resting his forehead on Crowley's and closing his eyes with a soft smile that really does make the demon want to melt. "Of course, my dearest."


End file.
